The Fight
by Bug McGuirk
Summary: Wilson is having an off day. He keeps spacing out, and Amber's getting annoyed. House, on the other hand, sees a great opportunity for some entertainment.


"James."

Wilson tunes back in to the conversation, the fog lifting. Amber is staring at him sternly, with that wild look in her eye that says she's had enough. He blinks slowly, looking over at House, who is also staring, amused in that way that few could recognize, a half smirk on his face. They are in the cafeteria, having lunch. People form groups around them, chatting away happily, creating the perfect white noise. He has no idea what the topic was. He can't recall even enough to piece together a half-ass excuse. So he doesn't. "What?" he says dumbly, clearing his throat

"Are you going to let him talk to me like that?" Amber asks, fork in hand. House must have said something pretty bad, if she isn't even eating her salad anymore.

Wilson blinks helplessly several times. "Uhm. Bwuh-I-"

"Yeah, you're not going to let me talk to her like that," House chimes in, looking delighted. "Are you?"

"Were you even paying attention?"

"No," Wilson admits softly. "I'm sorry." He places his hand on hers and squeezes it gently. Her expression softens out unexpectadly, and they share a smile. And then he looks at House. "Stop talking."

"You don't even know what I said," House replies, briefly pointing at Wilson with his fork.

"No, but knowing you it was something terrible."

Amber, smiling to herself like a Cheshire cat, kisses him on the cheek and readjusts herself in the booth, returning to picking at her salad. "I love it when he takes charge."

Wilson finds himself blushing, and tries to stifle a nervous laugh. Praise is nice, but in front of House, it's just awkward. He looks down at his own salad, identical to Amber's, and takes to prodding wilfted leafs over, looking busy.

"Oh, please," is House's singular response.

In that catty way she does, Amber's eyes flick over to House, and as she picks at her salad she says, "Just because you don't approve of public displays of affection doesn't mean the rest of the world has to agree."

"I wasn't referring to that."

"Guys-" Wilson sighs.

Grumpily, House says, "Oh, spare us the reprimanding and eat your_ salad_." He cringes at the word 'salad.'

"See? There you go again, badgering and manipulating." Amber practically throws down her plastic fork and turns to Wilson. "Why do you let him do that?"

Again, Wilson finds himself at a loss for words. He wonders, for one brief, fleeting moment, why things just can't be simple and easy. It's not exactly House's fault, and it's not Amber's either. It certainly isn't his fault. He thinks that he shouldn't have to meticuously plan lunch to avoid an argument, but apparently, that's what needs to be done.

"He likes it." House looks mildly outraged. "Don't you, Wilson?"

And feeling a blush creep back up his ears, Wilson says, "He's always been like this."

"I mean, he's dating_ you_, isn't he?"

Amber frowns and throws her hands up. "Stop making excuses for him!"

"Oh, stop it. You're just as manipulative as I am." House points with his fork at Wilson's salad, brow cocked. "And just because you're currently sleeping with my best friend doesn't make you any better than I am, because at the end of the day, you're still below me."

"I like salads," Wilson says weakly in his defence. "And _stop it_. Can you just _not_ be an ass? For_ ten minutes!_"

"I don't believe this," Amber mutters.

"What?" His eyes bounce over to House, then to Amber, and back to House. He decides he must be having an off day.

"I thought we talked about this, James."

Meanwhile, House looks on enticingly, chin in his hands.

"Amber, I already told you—this" he gestures wildly "this is just how he is. You can't take anything he says seriously. You should know, I mean, you wanted to work with him."

"_I'm_ your _girlfriend_." She says dramatically, taking his hand again and looking deep into his eyes.

"And I love you," he begins, slowly and carefully, hoping to right things.

"-but you won't even stand up for yourself." Purse in hand, she gets up from the table. "I can't be here right now. I need to clear my head." And she walks off.

"What the hell was that?" Wilson says, stunned. "I honestly have no clue—What the—What did you _do_?"

"_Me?_" House says over a sandwich. "That's what you get for dating me in female form," House informs him, stealing a big hunk of tomato from his salad. "Don't worry, she's probably just on the rag. She'll be over it in a couple hours."

"I hope so." Wilson slumps into his booth, breathes out a great breath of air, and then springs forward, snatching a fry from House's food tray. "I hate salads," he says unhappily. "They taste like grass."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: I hope I didn't make Amber to out of character. I think I caught all the mistakes. Constructive criticism welcome. Sorry for the first draft being in bold. My mistake.


End file.
